So. These are the good times, are they not? The best of times, in fact. What a wonderful, surprise-stuffed bag of joys this World Cup is. From the adventurous sweep of the architecture at every stadium to the perfect nap of the pitches, to the humility visited on virtually all of the world's great football powers, this is shaping up to be one of the great World Cups.

Timely, too, the call for the world to sit around and watch football games together for a while. It should be a sacred rite.

Of course, we, just as we always imagine ourselves to be, are centre stage. Greatest little nation and all that. Having somehow contrived to arrive without our two world-class talents, Steve Carr and Roy Keane, we have made ourselves underdogs in just about every match. In other words, we have the rest of the world where we want them.

The absence of Carr we could do nothing about, the absence of Keane will be argued over for longer than Béal na Bláth. The FAI indeed are to have a crack at solving the whole thing as soon as we get home by staging one of these increasingly popular external inquiries without which no Irish sporting occasion can ever be called complete.

We should, however, be big enough to leave aside the troubling business of Roy for a while and just spare a thought for a player who in his heart must be hurting badly through all this. We shouldn't let Roy's difficulties and his enmity towards Mick McCarthy colour our view of the manager's achievements.

Now, 10 days ago, when the whole circus was at its low point and no amount of wise men could discern precisely what the FAI or Mick McCarthy were at, many stern pieces were written to the effect that the manager's position was no longer tenable. On the night in question Roy Keane released his statement saying that he would not be flying east again in the near future and the news story changed yet again. Most of the pieces got scrapped or zapped.

And now? Well, turns out that it's as fickle a world as Mick McCarthy always thought it was. We come to praise him, not to bury him. By any measure we are inconsistent, thinking reeds. By any measure he deserves the praise.

Look at the team he has brought here. Given is class and Finnan is class. Steve Staunton was regarded in most quarters except his own as washed out and finished two years ago. McCarthy has been instrumental in cajoling him along. Here he is the heartbeat of the team. Beside him is Gary Breen, a Nationwide defender who, if he had let it, could have watched his form haemorrhage away down the drain following all the criticism he's taken over the years. McCarthy has stuck with him though and been repaid.

In the other full back position is Ian Harte, a sweet man whose confidence is all shot through just now. It was sad indeed to see him glumly admit the other night that he had "lost the runner" for the German goal. Until a thundering free-kick finds the net or an entire 90 minutes goes his way, McCarthy must nurse Harte's confidence through the World Cup.

In midfield, Holland and Kinsella's time to come out of the shadows comes after difficult seasons for them both with their unfashionable clubs. Out wide, Kilbane would have been ditched by many managers after his disastrous first outing away to Iceland a few years ago. He was persevered with, though. Sunderland probably won't be able to hold onto him such was the finish he put into the season.

And on the right? Jason McAteer has gone into a funk or depression. Steven Reid is a kid from the lower leagues, Gary Kelly has had a year where he has suffered the indignity of having to play second fiddle to Danny Mills.

Up front, Duff and Keane are fine and will continue to be so. They are enlivened beyond belief though when Quinn, who Mick long ago persuaded not to quit, comes on and directs the operations. Cut the cards any way you like and Jack Charlton had more and better to work with.

Indeed, in attempt to make conversation to the Football Corr during the week, I presented him with the latest piece of trivia gleaned from the two tons of newspaper cuttings I have brought with me on this trip. "You know, Sir Corr," I ventured humbly, "that despite all the brouhaha which traditionally surrounded the gruff but loveable Geordie Jack Charlton, his record in terms of percentage of games won or drawn is in fact inferior to that of the gruff but loveable, erm, Yorkie, Mick McCarthy."

Quite rightly the Football Corr swatted me away as he would an annoying blue bottle. "Yes," he said wisely, "but what about his competitive record?"

I had indeed surveyed the total records

of both men, further proof, if it were needed, that assiduousness is the true enemy of the journalist, not laziness. The Football

Corr's point was well made, as are all his points.

Humbled, but grateful for the humbling, I set about an exhaustive study of the competitive records of both men. Lo, but it produced more bad news for the elder gruff.

Jack Charlton supervised 57 competitive games on our behalf, and much as we enjoyed it all our view of his record was coloured by the poverty of all that had gone before. Out of those 57 games, we won 25, drew 21 and lost the rest. Using the perfectly fine three points for a win, one point for a draw system, this gave him 96 points out of a possible 177, or 54.2 per cent of all the points he might have collected.

Yon lad from Barnsley, though, has been at the tiller for 36 competitive games. We have won 18 of these and drawn 12. Of the 108 points we might have won we have claimed 66.

That's a whopping 61.1 per cent. You might also take into account that the more recent team have played sweeter football, have not come together as successful professionals in their prime but rather have grown from a troubled transition team to recently-troubled World Cup team. They play in an environment wherein second place no longer guarantees automatic qualification. All in all, as I will be telling the Football Corr this morning, Jack is the weakest link. Mick wins.

And this week, joy of joys, Mick has been returned to us in full technicolour grumpiness. The Stepford Wives version of Mick who sailed serenely through Saipan and Izumo has at last been sent back to the manufacturers. On Wednesday, after the Germany game, he wondered peevishly what we'd all be saying if his team had lost both games 1-0. We'd have been saying goodbye, of course, but that's how it works.

On Saturday, he had his studs up and was defending Hartey and Breeny from any sort of criticism, constructive or not. Then, annoyed apparently at the poor showing at that press conference (it was Saturday and we dailies weren't on duty), he cancelled his Sunday conference. Too many hacks. Too few hacks. Neither is as good as no hacks.

He's better than Jack and he's grumpier than Jack. If we win the competition he might have a total nark-out, deck a few of us, run amok on our laptops, be snide about our grammar. In that circumstance, he may never smile again. It's the stuff of dreams.